


A Sensitive Spirit (Just Waiting To Shine)

by Stratisphyre



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: (not the one you might think), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Minor Character Death, and jaal still manages to be ridiculous over her, sara as an exile in andromeda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 03:21:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10733106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stratisphyre/pseuds/Stratisphyre
Summary: The first time Jaal sees Sara Ryder, she’s standing to the left of Sloane Kelly’s throne on Kadara, a M8 tucked into the cradle of her arms—finger close to, but not on, the trigger—and the Pathfinder is doing his utmost to ignore her completely.





	A Sensitive Spirit (Just Waiting To Shine)

The first time Jaal sees Sara Ryder, she’s standing to the left of Sloane Kelly’s throne on Kadara, a M8 tucked into the cradle of her arms—finger close to, but not on, the trigger—and the Pathfinder is doing his utmost to ignore her completely.

Jaal had, of course, heard the whisperings aboard the _Tempest_ prior to their landing. With the Pathfinder’s son comatose due to their unfortunate introduction to Heleus, he had immediately looked for his daughter upon docking with the _Nexus_ , where she was supposedly working with Colonial Affairs.

Cora had been with him when he’d discovered she’d sided with the so-called ‘Exiles.’

“I’ve never seen the Pathfinder’s face like that,” she admitted to Liam, ostensibly in private but apparently unaware how their voices carried through the cargo hold as though Jaal was standing directly alongside them instead of next to the lift controls on the next deck. “I thought he was going to pull his gun. And then he just… shut down.”

There is none of the former in their leader now. His features, which Jaal has learned to read despite the alien contours to them, are completely blank as he tries to coax information from Sloane Kelly. His daughter watches him with such intent in her eyes, it’s as though she’s trying to burn a hole through his temple with her gaze alone, begging his attention. They share few features besides the dusky colour of their skin—like bark at twilight—with her round features marred by a ghastly red scar from an injury which must have come close to taking her right eye. Jaal has only seen glimpses of her twin brother when the Pathfinder visits him in the cryo bay; they must both take after their true mother.

Sloane Kelly proves as austere and unhelpful as Director Tann suggested, and the Pathfinder turns to go.

“Dad,” the younger Ryder finally says, the word punched out of her as though she’s taken a blow to the gut.

The Pathfinder glances over his shoulder and meets his daughter’s eyes for a bare moment, but his steps do not slow down as he strides from the room. Jaal matches his pace, and finds himself unsurprised when Sara Ryder catches up with them before they reach the entrance to Sloane’s expansive fortress.

“Dad, please—”

“You know,” the Pathfinder says, shoving his hands into his gloves. Jaal is certain he is merely looking for something to do with them, though he sees nothing that would betray emotion, not even the barest tremor. “This whole time I’ve been worried about Scott, what with him being comatose and all.” Her expression shatters into surprise and grief. “But I’ve never been so glad in my life. Because it would kill him— _kill him_ —to know you’ve turned traitor to the Initiative. To your own people.”

“You weren’t here,” Sara says through gritted teeth, her jaw clenched to what must be the point of pain. “The Initiative leadership wouldn’t listen—”

“And we solve problems like that through abandoning everything important to run off and play pirate? I taught you better than that.”

The pain disappears from her face, replaced with the hard neutrality Jaal recognizes from months served at the Pathfinder’s side. “You never taught me a damn thing. _Mom_ taught me to follow my principles.”

“Principles,” the Pathfinder scoffs. “I’ve seen the consequences of Sloane Kelly’s principles. Or was it someone else’s thugs we saw rolling that angara when we docked?”

Sara Ryder swallows whatever response she might have had and marches back into Kelly’s throne room.

The Pathfinder does not watch her go.

Jaal feels, inexplicably, as though something fragile has been shattered to pieces. If the Pathfinder shares the sentiment, he shows no indication of it, and leads Jaal back through to Kelly’s holding cells.

* * *

Jaal hopes beyond reason that they will not frequent Kadara; that the Pathfinder will write the world off and leave it to its violence, corruption and sulphuric lakes. But those hopes prove in vain when he gets a look at the monuments beyond the slums and his jaw sets in the stubborn, intractable way it has on every planet they’ve frequented together.

Jaal is not disappointed when he chooses to bring Cora and Ventra along, though he feels at odds in the port, surrounded by his people, who have chosen to live under the yolk of a power-hungry human female instead of trying to make their way off-world. It is a bitter reminder that not every angara feels the same call to fight for their home’s sovereignty, though perhaps it is easier to accept when the invaders are not kett.

Liam and Drack accost him as he wanders back towards the _Tempest_ , hoping to spend some time further studying the human engineering systems, and drag him along to Kralla’s Song. They set up at one of the tables crowding the floor, and Drack bullies Liam into getting them drinks.

“I don’t know why I’m paying for it,” Liam protests.

“Mind your elders,” Drack says, and guffaws as though it is some joke as opposed to an important philosophy to live by. They are very strange, these Milky Way aliens, and Jaal has not yet deciphered the nuances in their humour.

Liam grumbles, but goes to fetch drinks regardless.

“So, Alec found out about Sara, huh?” Drack asks once Liam is gone. The timing cannot be coincidence, though Jaal cannot fathom why he would wait until Liam was out of earshot. Surely, in such a small crew, news of this kind cannot be kept secret for long. Or perhaps this is a test? Jaal had hoped they were beyond such things once Alec had rescued the Moshae and Jaal had sincerely sworn his loyalty. “That’s tough.”

“You do not seem overly concerned,” Jaal points out.

“Kesh might still be on board the Nexus, but Alec dragged me off Eos when we first met.” It is likely a turn of phrase, but Jaal would be unsurprised to find that Drack spoke true; while he often relies on charisma to win the galaxy to his cause, the Pathfinder is not above more… physical means of persuasion when called for. “Didn’t care much for the _Nexus_. Guess his kid didn’t either.” He sniffs. “Can’t be easy for him.”

“I would think the parental bond would be strong enough to command his attention to her words,” Jaal comments, frowning at the tabletop.

“‘Parental bond,’ huh?” Drack chuckles. It is a sour sound, devoid of real humour. “I think Alec’s got more important priorities right now.” His mouth curls in what Jaal believes must be a sneer. “At least, according to him.”

Liam returns with the drinks, and shrugs rather helplessly when Jaal points out he is likely unable to metabolize whatever human brew has been placed in front of him. Drack shrugs and drinks it in Jaal’s stead.

A short while later, as the day edges towards night, Jaal finds himself alone at the table as Liam ‘chats up’ a young woman and her companion at the bar to the very obvious amusement of the asari bartender. Drack has been singled out by another krogan and appears to be sharing personal anecdotes in a conversation to which Jaal has not been invited to join. Alone with a scattering of empty cups, Jaal stands to finally show himself back to the _Tempest_. Gil Brodie has been accommodating in sharing details about its drive core with Jaal, likely to arouse the ire of their salarian pilot, who treats the information as sacrosanct and practically doctrinal in its importance. Jaal has high hopes of unraveling a few of the minor miracles of engineering the Milky Way emigrants have cobbled together.

It is never quiet on Kadara, he finds, and never is it more true than in the evenings it seems. The docks, crowded during the day, are alight at night. The lift seems to work nonstop, ushering people to and from the slums and into the arms of what passes as security. Whether the thugs recognize him as belonging to the Pathfinder’s crew, or respect the firearm at his side, Jaal is left unmolested as he makes his way through the crowds back to the _Tempest_.

Jaal has spent much of his life fighting the kett, and experience with the Resistance have given him an awareness of his surroundings envied and despised by his brothers and sisters in turn. It is a gift that makes him difficult to surprise, on the occasions when small and welcome surprises are called for. It is this awareness that nudges at his senses within minutes of leaving the bar, and he realizes he is being followed. It is a slight figure, weaving their way through the crowds and containers lining the docks. Jaal places a hand next to his firearm, cocking his elbow out in a way he believes to be obvious. If they notice, it does not deter them.

Halfway to the _Tempest_ , Jaal ducks into an alleyway and waits for his would-be shadow to follow. Instead of his gun, he wraps his hand instead around the hilt of the blade at his side, and waits.

It is not long before the shadow turns the corner. Years of combat training move Jaal’s muscles through memory alone, and he grabs them, spins and pushes them against the wall, blade coming to rest on an exposed line of skin at their very human throat. It barely takes a moment, but in the seconds between him seizing the human and the blade moving, the barrel of a pistol is pressed to his abdomen, and he finds himself staring into the dark eyes of Sara Ryder.

They both heave breaths into the silence, probably quieter than Jaal perceives, the usually thunderous world otherwise quiet around them. They are at one another’s mercies, it seems. Sara glares at him, though the expression is undermined by a wide-eyed vulnerability he would never associate with her father.

“What happened to my brother?” she demands. Her throat bobs with the words, and his blade draws a line of red across the soft skin of her neck. “You’re on his crew. You have to know.”

Jaal twitches the knife the barest millimetre away from her. “Put your gun away.”

“Put your knife away,” she counters.

They regard each other silently. And then, practically in unison, he steps away from her as she holsters her pistol. She steps away from the wall and begins pacing before him, irritated and restless as a caged challyrion. Her eyes remain on him, intent and assessing, as though she is determined to memorize the smallest detail about him. What she will do with the knowledge is inconsequential, surely, but also unnerving.

“I was not there,” Jaal said. “It happened when the Ark _Hyperion_ first encountered the Scourge.”

Her hands clench and unclench at her side. It is a familiar tic: the Pathfinder often does it when he is resisting the urge to strike something.

“And? He was injured? Someone hurt him? _What_?”

“His resuscitation from cryosleep was interrupted at the wrong moment. It caused no bodily harm, from what I understand, but it took its toll on him.” Lexi, he knows, would be able to offer more information. Unfortunately for Sara Ryder, she has accosted the one member of the crew who knows the least about human physiology; perhaps because she believes that, as angara, he will be the least loyal. Jaal’s understanding of her brother’s condition is cobbled together from the scant conversations he has overheard. Save for his earlier encounter with his daughter, the Pathfinder has rarely mentioned his son. Jaal has accorded this what understanding he can; it must be painful for the human to explore unknown worlds when he has no guarantee his family will ever set foot upon them. Dwelling on his son’s condition would be difficult.

“Where is he being kept?”

“That, I will not tell you.”

Sara Ryder’s hand twitches to her pistol, and he grabs for his blade. They stare each other, hands on their respective weapons, once again shrouded in tense silence.

“Why not?” she demands.

“Because I do not know you, Sara Ryder, or your intentions. And I will not jeopardize the son of the Pathfinder.”

This, surprisingly, eases the tension from her shoulders. She drops her hand from her gun and shakes her head. “Well. I can’t exactly fault you for that.” She looks out the end of the alley. “You should get back to your ship. Kadara isn’t the friendliest place after nightfall.”

Jaal sniffs. “It is hardly welcoming during the day, either.”

This conjures what he believes is likely a rare smile. “You’ve got me there.”

“Where?”

She actually laughs and holds out her hand. “Thank you… Jaal?”

“Jaal Ama Darav,” he says. Instead of shaking her hand, he offers the traditional farewell of his people. She stumbles through the gesture and he chuckles.

“Stay strong, and clear,” she says, mangling the language of his people worse than anything he’s heard since the Pathfinder’s first—and last—attempt at it.

“And you, Sara Ryder.”

That, he believes as she slips out of the alley and disappears into the crowds beyond, is the end of their acquaintance.

* * *

Despite the increased presence of his people aboard the _Nexus_ , Jaal never feels comfortable walking through the clinical and pristine spaces. He is used to angaran design and aesthetics; comfort and passion folded into everything from furniture to the curvature of the walls. The _Nexus_ was created with Milky Way sensibilities in mind—or, at least, human ones—and it often seems to Jaal to be sterile and unwelcoming. To that end, he looks for quiet, out of the way places and keeps his own company. Which is the only reason he is loitering around the cryopod area of the _Hyperion_ the third time he sees Sara Ryder.

Perhaps, due to long years of vigilance, he is attuned to her presence. Or it may be the familiar sand-coloured cloak which catches his eye as she passes behind a stack of crates lining the hallway. It stands out to him; it is less… shiny than the garments worn by other members of the initiative. He follows, prepared for a fight should it come to it. He and Sara Ryder may have parted on an amicable note, but having one of Sloane Kelly’s lieutenants aboard the _Nexus_ is dangerous.

She closes in on Scott Ryder’s room and lingers outside the door. Waiting? Dr. Carlyle is in attendance within, perhaps she is content to wait until he leaves?

On the other side of the area, a security panel begins to spark, and Jaal turns in time to catch sight of the small explosion that sends the door panel careening into the far wall, an electrical fire already spreading within.

Dr. Carlyle comes racing out of the room as the alarm begins to sound, seemingly drawing the attention of everyone in the area, and Sara Ryder slips into her brother’s room, unnoticed save by Jaal.

 _I do not know you, or your intentions._

Jaal approaches the room, sidearm at the ready, just in case.

Peering inside—the door is ajar, though only by an inch or two between sliding panels—he sees Sara kneeling at her brother’s bedside, gripping his hand tight enough to leave bruises.

“Scooter, you dumbass,” she whispers harshly. “I told you to come with me. Dad’s fine on his own.” She presses her forehead against his knuckles and breathes in long, measured breaths. If she intends harm, she has come ill-prepared for it; she must know her distraction will not keep the doctor away for long.

The thought summons the man himself, and Jaal steps back from the door to speak with him.

“Ah, Doctor Carlyle.” He hopefully speaks loud enough to draw her attention. He is unsure why he is determined to aid her. Perhaps because her devotion reminds him of his own brothers and sisters, and thoughts of being kept from them in such dire circumstances. “I was looking for you. I am hoping to scratch your brain, is this the saying?”

“Pick my brain,” the doctor corrects mildly. Jaal shifts around, and the doctor helpfully follows him, placing his back to Scott Ryder’s door.

“Yes. Pick your brain. About human physiology, in the case of any field injuries my crew may incur.” It is not, strictly speaking a lie. It is, in fact, a subject on which he and Doctor T’Perro have spoken at length.

“Usually you’re fine to slap some medi-gel on any injuries.” Doctor Carlyle crosses his arm. “But I can probably provide a few pointers.”

Behind him, Sara Ryder slips out of the room. She catches Jaal’s eye for a single moment—confused gratitude in her expression—and disappears down the corridor, towards the small crowd which has gathered to fight the fire.

Doctor Carlyle’s assistance is insightful and Jaal anticipates the advice being helpful in the future.

* * *

Of course, it does not take the Pathfinder long to discover the intrusion.

“How’d she even get on station? I thought they were exiled, not suspended,” he growls to Director Tann, Kesh and Kandros. The three have come to understand that, while slow to rise, the Pathfinder’s temper is not something to which being subjected is at all pleasant.

“False credentials,” Kandros repeats for the third time. “She came aboard the station under the name ‘Lee’ and docked a shuttle that was later reported stolen from Eos. We’re already tightening up bio-scans for anyone who docks with us.”

“She was alone with him for five minutes,” the Pathfinder continues, also for the third time. Jaal doubts he hears himself, and finds it at odds with the Pathfinder’s usual calm. Jaal has rarely heard the human misplace a single word, let alone repeat himself. “Do you know what she could have done with five minutes unrestricted access? My son could have been killed.”

“All she did was hold his hand,” Kesh points out, in a tone of voice which might have been placating two iterations ago.

The Pathfinder does not seem at all mollified, and Jaal recuses himself from the conversation, leaving Cora to stand silently at his side. Jaal wanders the Pathfinder’s HQ, studying the models and holographs on display. His involvement in Sara Ryder’s intrusion have apparently gone unnoticed. While he is prepared to justify his actions, whatever footage Kandros secured apparently did not obviously indicate his complicity. It must be so; otherwise, Kandros would surely have brought it to the Pathfinder’s attention.

“We have standing orders to execute any exiles that return to the _Nexus_ ,” Director Tann finally snaps. “And I intent to ensure this edict is followed through to the letter. If she is caught returning again, she will pay the price like any other outlaw.”

This, suddenly, brings the Pathfinder up short. “That… doesn’t leave room for reconciliation with the exile factions,” he says.

“I have no interest in reconciliation with a group of common criminals,” Tann states. He studies the Pathfinder. “Perhaps next time you are on Kadara, you could remind the inhabitants of the consequences.” He straightens to his full height, which would be intimidating on any sentient being of a less obsequious nature. “That should prevent future inconveniences to your son’s convalescence.”

The Pathfinder nods, brusquely, and Cora snaps to his heels as he makes his way back out of the office. Jaal finishes his perusal of the models before following along behind.

The Pathfinder does not mention his daughter’s foray onto the _Nexus_ again.

* * *

>   
>  To: Jaal Amar Darav  
>  From:  
>  Subject: ………thanks – sr  
> 

Jaal does not respond. It would invite too much attention if the original had truly gone unnoticed. But he leaves it in his inbox.

* * *

It is not too much longer before they return to Kadara.

It’s not enough that Jaal hates the place. That the smell of the air sticks in his nostrils, cloying and rotten. The sight of his people degraded and suffering under autocratic “protection.” But the real insult is the Pathfinder’s insistence on leaving Jaal to his own devices. To languish in fetid uselessness instead of being allowed to help lance the corruption that infects a planet the angara once called home.

“You’re an asset to this crew,” the Pathfinder tells him, time and time again. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten it. But I need your skills to stay sharp and ready for when we encounter things that impact your people.”

As though losing Kadara and being forced to lick the boots of those who hold their petty victories over them does not impact them.

He has stopped arguing, and instead settles himself at Kralla’s Song, waiting for the Pathfinder to return and glaring at the bar top as though it has done him personal wrong. Drack and Liam, and occasionally Gil when he can escape the siren call of their ship’s engine, alternately give him space and close ranks around him. He does not know how they determine which is necessary, but they are unerringly correct in their assessments.

He is alone the fourth time he meets with Sara Ryder. He should, perhaps, stop counting; for whatever higher purpose, their lives are apparently destined to intersect while he serves aboard the _Tempest_.

“Why did you help me?” Sara Ryder demands, sitting down beside him. He does not know why he internalizes her by her full name; perhaps because the Ryder family is so pervasive in his thoughts that he cannot simply consider her surname, and they are not intimate enough for him to call her simply ‘Sara.’ “If you’re looking to curry favour with Sloane, you’re knocking on the wrong door. I just stand behind her and look menacing. If you want something, you’ll have to go right to the source.”

She says it all in a single breath, the words spilling out pulse-quick and almost too much for the translation to manage.

When he finally succeeds in parsing her words, his lips pull in what might be called a smile. “I have brothers. And sisters.”

She accepts it as the explanation he’s meant it to be and nods to herself. She slouches on her bar stool and gestures to the bartender, who puts a measured ounce of something noxious and thick down in front of her. She takes a sip, instead of throwing it back and puts it back down on the bar. Jaal would be content to allow her to drink in silence, but it seems that this human is far and away more expressive than her father.

“I tried to bully him into coming with me,” she confesses. “When Dad asked me to get aboard the _Nexus_. ‘My eyes and ears,’ he called me, like I was doing all this just for his benefit. But Scott insisted on joining him on the Pathfinder’s team. Said one of us had to be there to look out for him, because otherwise he’d end up acting like a hero and getting himself killed.” She snorts and finishes her shot in a whiff of citrus, bitter exhaust, and ill-concealed gagging. “And now Dad’s out there alone, Scott’s in a coma and I’m stuck here waiting for word that one or both of them are…” She shakes her head. “Don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Humans have a tendency to unburden themselves with little provocation, I’ve found.” Save the Pathfinder, who is recalcitrant with them all. Even Cora, who insists knows him better than anyone else.

Sara Ryder grins. “Yeah. I guess we do.” She looks at Jaal. “But I’ve known some angara who seem to think that every conversation is an opportunity to overshare.”

“My people feel things very deeply,” Jaal agrees. “And what better way to double your joy than share it?” Though, what joy is to be found in this place he cannot say. Cannot even guess.

His skepticism must read on his face, because Sara Ryder jumps to her feet. “Come on.” His fringe shifts, and she mockingly furrows her own brow to mimic his confusion. “I wouldn’t let a member of my dad’s team get hurt. You can trust me.”

Here is what he knows about Sara Ryder, culled from his own impressions and grapeshot-quick gossip echoing in the halls of the _Tempest_ : she is an excellent shot, she works for Sloane Kelly as an enforcer, she takes after her mother and she has become someone to not be trusted. The lattermost observations came from the Pathfinder in a vulnerable moment when Jaal was talking about his own family, and the senior-most Ryder felt the need to respond.

Despite this, Jaal rises from his seat and follows her.

She leads him to the lift, and punches in a coded request. Before it arrives at their location she uses her pistol to force the door open and gestures with her chin.

“Come on.”

She jumps and lands on the top as it ascends. Jaal nearly misses the window to join her while wondering if he should let it pass him by and return to the _Tempest_ , but throws himself next to her at the last possible moment. It brings them up, up, up to the highest level of the port, where the Pathfinder has never had cause to visit, and she pulls him out onto a flat rooftop overlooking the streets below.

“I come up here to think, sometimes,” she tells him. “The atmo kinda glows when the sun sets. It’s pretty.” She stares out at the horizon, half-eaten away by smog and the restless toxicity the Pathfinder has yet to fix in Kadara’s elusive vault.

“It is… nice.” The dimples in her cheeks pull the words out of him, begrudging and unimpressed though they may be.

“Nicer than being down there, anyway,” she nods. She considers him in profile. “Why did you join dad’s crew?” she asks as they take their seats. “I didn’t think relations between the angara and the _Nexus_ were that good.”

“Would you believe it was so I could kill him, in the event of him betraying the location of our home world?”

Sara chuckles. “I’m sure you’re not the only one who decided to sign up to have the opportunity to kill him.” The chuckles turn into a full belly-laugh, “I think that might be how he met my mom.” She seems to find this endlessly amusing, and Jaal offers her a smile.

“Your family seems very interesting,” he tells her once she’s regained control of herself.

“It’s one of the nicer words I’ve heard used to describe us,” she agrees.

“You do not seem the type to throw in your lot with the likes of Sloane Kelly,” Jaal says. The observation is cobbled together first by his own biases—everyone they’ve spoken to who is even tangentially involved with Kelly seems to be the sort of person to cheerfully rob their own mothers—and secondly by the tenderness he beheld while she was sitting at her brother’s bedside.

The levity disappears and she looks down. “Sloane wasn’t always like this,” Sara Ryder—Sara?—mumbles at her own hands. She rolls her shoulders back. “There were real issues on the _Nexus_ before dad arrived. Tann got ban-happy and exiled people whenever they even kinda agreed with what the mutineers were saying. Sloane didn’t think it was right. Didn’t think it was fair. So she packed up and came here. And then the kett. Well. You’d know about the kett.” Jaal nods gravely. “She lost a lot of good people. People she might’ve listened to. They weren’t fighters, really. They were friends and family who chose to follow us out here, and one by one they ended up dead or worse. And once the kett were gone, there was no one she trusted enough to listen to when they said she was crossing a line. And I guess when you cross enough lines, you just… stop seeing them.” The last words slip from her lips like a question. Here is a woman who would not lose sight of those lines, Jaal thinks, only to castigate himself in the next moment. She must have lost sight of them somewhere, why else work for Kelly?

“And yet you stay?”

“Nowhere else to go,” Sara shrugs. “The krogan wouldn’t have me.” She laughs at herself and Jaal finds himself unable to stop himself from laughing along with her.

They sit in contemplation of the sky a while longer.

* * *

He thinks of Sara often, though their visits to Kadara become but rare. Whatever he sees in the badlands, the Pathfinder seems to consider the planet as an afterthought, as though even breathing the air is unpalatable. And while Jaal appreciates the sentiment, it sits more bitter than it had when he first thought of Kadara as an infection in need of treatment, instead of a place which holds certain allures. Such as the skyline, obviously. It would be a shame to never see the sun set over the port again.

Fate finds them on Elaaden when he receives the missive about his siblings.

“Pathfinder,” he says, “Alec. _Please_.”

The Pathfinder, who is halfway off the ship, turns on his heel and claps Jaal’s arm. “I can understand how disappointed you must be,” he says. “But we have to put the mission first. I’m sorry, Jaal.” He says the words with the same regret he found when he told Liam they could not rescue his friends. The mission—human settlement, above all other considerations—was his sole focus, and its inertia kept him going through the grievous disappointments and disasters Andromeda had offered.

He leaves Jaal standing in the cargo bay, a blast of gritty heat punching him in the face less painful than his words.

“I’m sorry, Jaal,” Vetra says, approaching his side. “There’s no way he’s going to be back before the end of the week.” The Pathfinder had been making noises about Elaaden’s vault and clearing out the flophouse. A sizable task, the enormity of which left Jaal feeling gutted. He is supposed to sit on this ship, drink it’s too-warm recycled water and wait for the Pathfinder to return? And if his siblings die while he is out combing the endless desert?

The turian continues, “If I had a ship, I’d take you myself.” Her faceplates shift in sorrow.

Jaal’s fringe twitches, the smallest spark of a thought growing to an ember in his mind.

He returns to his bunk and replies to the email still sitting in his inbox, hoping beyond reason that Sara will read it and understand the urgency. Will heed his call for help. He wonders if SAM will read the email and betray him to the Pathfinder. If the email will disappear into oblivion. If Sara will laugh at his desperation. The ‘ifs’ torment him, until he receives a reply less than an hour later.

>   
>  To: Jaal Ama Darav  
>  From: aiche.lee  
>  Subject: RE: urgent
> 
> i’ll be there as soon as i can.
> 
> SSAC
> 
> sr

His breath catches and he forgives her the casual butchery of their traditional parting words.

She lands on Elaaden less than a day later, and looks surprised when both Jaal and Vetra join her on what is surely a stolen ship.

“You have a turian,” she says in greeting, looking at Vetra in surprise.

“You have the ship stolen off Eos a few cycles ago,” Vetra returns. How she can tell beneath the layers of obscene graffiti, Jaal cannot tell.

Sara shrugs. “Needs must.”

“I can get behind that,” Vetra says. They buckle themselves in for the journey to Havarl.

Worry clouds most of Jaal’s thoughts. Will Akksul do something to his brothers and sister, knowing he willingly serves aboard an Initiative vessel? Will they return home with him? Are they safe? Are they unharmed?

Sara reaches out and touches his hand and he looks at her. Notices the dark bruise on her jaw—clearly healing, though still mostly fresh—and the split on her bottom lip.

“What happened to you?” he asks.

“Professional disagreement,” Sara replies. She glances at Vetra, as though unsure whether she can elaborate. “Sloane tried to go too far. Kaetus and I tried to stop her. It didn’t work out so well for us.”

“Dissension in the ranks,” Vetra comments mildly. “We should tell the Pathfinder.”

Sara’s jaw tightens, but she does not forbid it. Nor do they say much else, on the trip to Havarl. The planet’s beauty is lost on him as they find the shuttle that will take them to the Forge. Jaal has never imagined bringing the Pathfinder here, to their most sacred of places. Such a thing still seems repellent to him. But Sara’s presence, defined by her comfort in her own skin, does not seem so painfully sacrilegious.

She walks off the shuttle with her pistol and a heavy sniper rifle strapped to her back.

“How do you want to play this?” she asks.

“I will talk with my brothers and sister,” Jaal says. “And Akksul. Please allow me to speak with them without interference.”

She looks at him carefully. “You trust me to follow your lead?”

“I do.”

The words obviously shake her, but she follows Jaal through the forests and into the sanctity of what was once revered, and is now defamed with the violence of lost souls. She fights flawlessly alongside him and Vetra, reading their movements and following them into the thick of things.

He watches his brother fall, and she grabs his arm and squeezes tight enough to bring blood welling up beneath the skin. He leads them into the thick of the Roekaar, and she stays close behind him.

He confronts Akksul, and she is at his side.

“The Pathfinder, her father, rescued the Moshae. He restored worlds we have long considered lost to prosperity.”

“And what,” Akksul growls, “has she done?”

Sara bares her teeth, pistol clenched too tightly in her hand. “I haven’t put a bullet in your fucking skull. Yet.”

Above them, the Roekaar shift in agitation and a half-dozen muzzles are suddenly pointed their way. Jaal draws Akksul’s attention, and the other angara rounds on him, gun drawn. They growl and snap at each other like wild adhi and the entire time all he can hope is that Sara follows his lead and will not shoot.

When Akksul fires his weapon, Jaal is sure that Sara will put him on the ground in recompense, but even when the bullet grazes his cheek and Akksul’s head remains attached to his shoulders.

Posturing done, the other Roekaar leave—hopefully for good—and Akksul returns to the shadows to wallow in his defeat.

Vetra and Sara immediately put themselves to the task of dismantling—not simply disarming—the bombs.

Sara is quick at removing and dissembling the components, stripping the mechanisms bare within minutes. “I’ll take the switches, if you don’t mind.”

“I do mind, actually. I’m not letting bomb components end up in the hands of Sloane Kelly,” Vetra protests.

Sara’s hands pause at their work, but only for the barest moment. “They won’t. End up in her hands.” She looks at Vetra. “I promise.”

Vetra’s plates shift suspiciously, and she looks to Jaal. Not for permission, certainly—she outranks him, and regardless Jaal does not believe she would ever ask permission for anything—but he nods. Sara can be trusted. She has proven that much to him.

Then his siblings are at his side again, and Jaal loses track of anything that exists outside the small bundle of his family.

Sara hangs back when they return to the Havarl outpost, speaking in low tones with Vetra as Jaal reunites his wayward siblings with their mothers. While he might’ve felt awkward and uncomfortable were the Pathfinder there, watching them, he feels free to sink himself into their affection and whisper love into the spaces between them.

When he finally returns to Sara, Vetra is gone.

“She’s checking out the merchant over that way,” Sara says. Her eyes flit across the wilderness surrounding the landing platform. It seems she has something on her mind, and tries to speak the words a few times, finally settling on, “Havarl is beautiful. I’ve never…” She smiles, and the expression lights up her face as stars in the night sky. Jaal feels something stir within him; beautiful and sacred. “I don’t get off Kadara, all that much.”

“Would you… care to come meet my family?” he asks. She blinks at him in surprise. “If Vetra is inclined to stay a while longer.”

“Wouldn’t it be intruding?” Sara asks, rubbing the short hair at the back of her head nervously. He has never seen the Pathfinder nervous. Worried, perhaps, and anxious for his people and his mission. But never nervous.

“Not at all. I promise.” He offers his hand. Sara stares at it for a moment and then reaches out to place her hand against his. It is warm, her palm hard and cracked, and he can feel the heartbeat beneath her skin.

* * *

>   
>  To: Jaal Amar Darav  
>  From: Sahuna  
>  Subject: Your human
> 
> I quite like her, Jaal. Take care – she reminds me of an danirii with a broken wing and needs tending. I am disappointed, however, to note that she rarely answers her emails. Please make a point of speaking to her about this, next time you see her.
> 
>  

* * *

Jaal is finally introduced to Scott Ryder a few weeks later. The human is still shaky on his feet, but follows his father around the _Tempest_ , offering friendly smiles and subdued yet earnest greetings to all of them.

When the Pathfinder introduces him to Jaal, Jaal must remind himself that—regardless of how tender his feelings for Sara and her frequent oration on Scott’s many shortcomings as a brother and human being—he is for all intents and purposes meeting a stranger. He greets him cordially, but without familiarity one might expect to see when greeting a friendly-not-stranger. There is no word for it in the human language he has found.

“I’d put him on the crew,” the Pathfinder says, “If Harry would sign off on it. But apparently oversleeping is a good excuse for keeping someone grounded.”

Scott chuckles awkwardly. “Maybe you could get another opinion from Lexi?” He touches his midsection and hisses. “Mind if I take five? You could run down and ask her, if you want. I just need to sit down for a second.”

The Pathfinder looks at Jaal, assessing, and then nods. “Jaal will take good care of you.” The words are as much a reassurance to Scott as an order for Jaal, and he shows himself out of the room.

“Are you in much discomfort?” Jaal asks.

Scott whips around with more speed than Jaal would think capable of someone who’d just moments ago displayed weakness in front of his patriarch. “I need to see my sister.”

Jaal’s fringe shivers with surprise. “Your sister?”

“I don’t know what’s up with you two, but she told me you were the one I should talk to.” The words warm Jaal, as though he is stepping in from the icy cold of Voeld towards an over-energized heat lamp. “I need to get to Kadara.”

“There is no way of getting you there without drawing your father’s attention,” Jaal tells him apologetically. “And there would certainly be consequences for you and Sara, both, if he were to find out.”

Scott curses and hammers his fist against the bulkhead. “This is bullshit.” It is such a familiar thing to see that Jaal’s breath catches. Wasn’t this how his first meeting with Sara went? “He told me she was lost. _Lost_. Not dead, not in exile. Lost. As though he’s taken it upon himself to look for her even though he knows damn well where she is.” He spits and curses. “If I find a way to get out from under Harry’s thumb, can you get me aboard this ship the next time you head out to Kadara?”

“Absolutely not,” Gil says when Jaal asks him about it later, once Scott has been returned to medical. “Are you crazy? The old man will put us both out the airlock.”

“He wants to see his sister, Gil,” Jaal says.

“And I want a natural royal flush in my next game. Guess which is more likely.” Gil shakes his head. “No way. You want to stuff him in a shipping container or something? You know our fucking pilot’s gonna notice an extra one hundred and eighty pounds cutting into his fuel efficiency, and there’s no way that’s going to fly by SAM. Plus,” he waves his hands, “there is literally nowhere on this ship we could hide him. Not with the chance of the Pathfinder wandering the hallways randomly looking to chat.” Actually, the Pathfinder spends most of his time ensconced with Cora, planning their next move. He rarely seeks out the company of his crew, which gives Jaal the meagrest hope this might work.

“It would be easier to get _her_ onto the _Nexus_ ,” Gil continues. “She can’t possibly weigh more than some of the armour we’ve got in the cargo hold. And it’s not like they bioscan…us…” Whatever he reads in Jaal’s face makes him sigh. “Oh, fuck me.”

Which is how, the next time they are on Kadara and the Pathfinder disembarks to get information from Mr. Vidal, Jaal and Gil end up sneaking Sara aboard in a rare moment when there’s no one watching the ramp.

“I want to go on record saying this is still a terrible idea,” Gil hisses.

“There is no record,” Sara points out.

“Even worse,” Gil insists.

Sara darts behind a stack of containers as Liam wanders by. He grins at the two of them with his usual oblivious enthusiasm and continues on his way.

“Need I remind everyone about Tann’s threats to execute you if you show up on the _Nexus_?” Gil demands once Liam has retreated to his bunk. “And what if we’re docked there for more than a couple of days? Are we supposed to smuggle you rations and clean clothes?”

“Like my father would ever stay docked anywhere for more than a couple of days,” Sara snorts. She has a point; they have spent less than a human month all together on the _Nexus_ the entire time Jaal has been part of the crew, and never for more than two days together. She pats Gil’s cheek, and Jaal feels a stir of irrational jealousy. “You worry too much, man I’ve just met.”

“And I suppose you have a plan to get yourself back to Kadara?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she replies.

Gil throws up his hands, but shows her panel he pried away from the wall that will conceal her from general view. Jaal sells the extra body armour for a small profit, and deposits it into the ship’s accounts, hopefully to be overlooked for the present time.

No such luck, of course. They are barely an hour out when Cora approaches him about it.

“I’m not strictly speaking complaining,” she says. She very well could be… she is supposed to be the Pathfinder’s XO, not their quartermaster. “You got a good price for it, but you never know what sort of resources we might need.”

“Accept my apologies,” Jaal replies. “I had stubbed my toe on its casing too many times, and I fear it was a moment of unforgivable pettiness on my part.”

Cora almost smiles. “Not really unforgivable,” she assures him. She studies him closely. “Strange. The last few times we’ve left Kadara you’ve seemed a bit down.”

“Have I?”

“Not so much, this time.” Whether it is something worthy of her suspicion, he’ll never know: she turns her attention to Liam’s sudden interest in recalibrating the jets on the Nomad and leaves Jaal standing next to the lift, considering her words.

Instead of smuggling her aboard and through the crowded halls and trams of the _Nexus_ —her face, even without its scarring, is too recognizable with the Pathfinder now in attendance in Andromeda, and all and sunder are looking for insight into the quizzical man upon whom all their hopes rely—they decide to gather up Scott and bring him to the _Tempest_.

The task of going to collect the youngest Ryder falls to Gil.

“When the Pathfinder finds out about this, I’m going to get the shovel talk,” Gil points out, face set in exaggerated dismay.

“Shovel?” Jaal repeats. There must be a mistranslation.

“Nah. He wouldn’t go to the effort of burying you when he could just toss you out the airlock,” Sara assures Gil.

Gil looks even more pained at the thought.

He makes assumptions from context, as has been required of him almost since the moment he came aboard. “I take this to mean that parents are in the habit of threatening those who wish to spend unchaperoned time with their children,” Jaal says. “Is this true?” His mothers are in the habit of throwing—sometimes literally—their children into the arms of others, layering on words of encouragement to see if something might spark, with the aim of adding to their family. His true mother, especially, is renowned for her complete shamelessness in trying to encourage the sort of romantic liaisons Gil suggests are worthy of death threats in human circles.

“Usually not literally,” Sara tells him. “But my father thinks Scott hung the moon, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s at least a little gun polishing going on.”

“He’s not even that attractive,” Gil states woefully.

“Lies,” Sara mutters. She considers Gil closely. “You know, dad’s not the only one capable of doing violence upon people who mess with Scott.”

Gil sniffs airily. “I don’t have to put up with this.” He sweeps out of engineering, down the ramp and disappears into the _Nexus_.

“Scott’s gonna love him,” Sara says. She looks at Jaal and smiles softly. “Thank you for doing this for me. For us. Us. I mean, Scott and I.”

“Please do not mistake me,” Jaal says, “I admire your brother. From all I have heard, he will eventually come to be an asset to this crew. But I did this for you.”

Sara stares at him, struck speechless, and Jaal shifts uncomfortably. Humans are such a curious people. With an angaran woman, Jaal could be open about the welling of affection within. He could tell her that he finds her fascinating, and that to hear her voice he would listen to her read directly from the codex SAM is compiling, even the entries with which he is already intimately acquainted. He wants to bring her to his family’s home again, and subject her to the attentions of the mothers, and have them feed her and then show her the beauty of Havarl the way it should be experienced; in its fullness and dangerous beauty, instead in the too-brief steps between shuttle and doorway. Ask her if this spark her feels is his burden to bear alone, or if she feels its potential, dazzling since the moments of its inception.

But he thinks of the Pathfinder and his tight-pressed lips and ongoing reluctance to engage on topics outside of the mission or the ship. Or Cora, who insists upon speaking of asari doctrine without engaging in anything personal about herself. Or Gil’s deflection when it comes to topics besides his friendship with Jill, and cards. Or even the late-night conversation he had once with Peebee, who’d been deep into her cups and warned him, ‘Jaal, you’re never going to get anything better out of the human ones. They’re no fun. Like, ever’, before half-falling out of her seat and giggling at the floor.

And with all this substantial weight dragging down his thoughts into prickly wariness, he remains silent. It makes him uncomfortable, hiding such things, but his regard for Sara is high enough he is willing to bear such discomfort until he knows his attentions would be welcome.

The moment hangs in the air between them, overburdened with his thoughts and, perhaps, Sara’s own, before she finally coughs uncomfortably and sets herself to looking over the schematics for the _Tempest_ until Scott’s arrival.

When she sees him walking up the ramp next to Gil, her face transforms. He was unaware it could soften further, but every trace of the dismal and cruel realities of Kadara fade away when her eyes set on her brother. She launches herself at him, and it is only Gil’s intervention that prevents them both from tumbling back down the gangway as they collide, and Sara coils around him like an overgrown vine reaching towards sunshine. Gil braces them, holds Scott’s shoulders for a moment to make sure he is steady on his feet, then moves to join Jaal’s side.

“This is so touching. I might puke,” Gil says.

“Is vomit a typical human symptom when observing something adorable?” Jaal asks.

“Now you’re just taking the piss,” Gil says. He claps Jaal’s shoulder. “Come on. You and I should keep an eye out for the old man. Wouldn’t want anyone getting executed.”

“Certainly not,” Jaal agrees. “Would you care to help me work on my bluffing? I feel my technique is coming along.”

“You’re singing my song, Jaal.”

“I am not currently singing.” At Gil’s long-suffering glare, Jaal nods. “Ah. Idiom.”

* * *

Their visit is all-too brief, and whatever Sara’s plans for returning to Kadara, they are mercifully curtailed by a communication from Vidal requesting the Pathfinder’s assistance yet again. Shore leave is mitigated to a single day, and Sara is once again forced to hide in the wall paneling as the rest of the crew come back aboard. Jaal does not see Scott and Sara say goodbye, but her eyes are wet as Gil readjusts the plating and she slips inside the small cavity.

Jaal does not wander the ship, but he cannot stay in engineering for the entire trip back to Kadara without drawing attention. Perhaps if he and Gil were closer, such a thing could go without notice, but he does not wish to risk drawing any unnecessary attention to the area in which Sara is concealed.

When they reach Kadara, Vidal meets them in the docks and invites the entire crew to share liquor “liberated” from Sloane Kelly. The Pathfinder identifies it as a particularly fine vintage, but to Jaal it tasks like moss. However, their congregation in the meeting room does give Sara her chance to escape unnoticed.

Vidal seems to enjoy himself immensely, gracing them all with wide grins and flirtatious words. He keeps half an eye on Jaal, perhaps because of their shared connection to the Resistance.

It does not take long from the conversation to sour.

“One of my sources tells me that Sloane Kelly has her sights on human trafficking,” Vidal says, soberly staring at the bottle in his hand. He passes it to the Pathfinder, who pours another finger into his glass and passes it back. “Kaetus is against it, but that’s never stopped her before.”

Jaal thinks of the bruises on Sara’s face, when she had appeared on Elaaden, and wonders if it is at all connected. Sara, surely, would not endorse such a thing.

The Pathfinder glowers at his half-full cup. “And she’s proposing to do that how?”

“Some Exiles came back from your outpost on Elaaden with a couple of women in tow,” Vidal says. “She was going to put them to work in the brothel, but they disappeared from the cells overnight. Still no sign of them, though my people are looking.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“My mockingbird doesn’t lie,” Vidal says into the lip of the bottle.

Sara would know of their whereabouts, Jaal’s sure of it. She must have been involved in their liberation. The thought of her turning a blind eye, or being complicit, is inconceivable.

“Maybe I should have a word with Miss Kelly,” the Pathfinder says.

“If you think you can sway her,” Vidal agrees. He stands. “Thank you for the tour of your ship. She’s beautiful.” His eyes narrow slightly. “You must take good care of your assets.”

The Pathfinder frowns at the weight of the words. “We do our best.”

Cora escorts him off the ship and the Pathfinder stands, leaving his untouched glass on the table.

“Jaal. Drack. Let’s go.”

Intimidation is the game, then. Jaal makes a point of standing as tall as possible, and puffs out his chest in a manner he is assured is quite impressive. They follow along behind the Pathfinder to the Outcast headquarters, Drack’s hand never far from his shotgun, the Pathfinder preceding them like a thunderhead.

He barges past the guards at the door—who do little more than squawk after the quelling look Drack shoots them—and into Sloane’s throne room. She sits indolent and disinterested, as always. Sara stands behind her, red cheeked and slightly out of breath. She is wearing the same clothes Jaal saw her in before her escape from the _Tempest_ , her gun cradled to her chest, out and prepared.

“Do we need to discuss knocking?” Sloane demands.

“You will not be complicit in slavery on Kadara,” the Pathfinder tells her. “Should any colonists come your way, you _will_ call the _Tempest_ so my crew and I can collect them and bring them back to their homesteads. Am I understood?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Sloane demands. “Coming in here. Giving me orders.”

“I’ve overlooked a lot of things to this point to get your support here,” the Pathfinder tells her. “But those have been exceptions to my rules, and I can stop making exceptions at any time.”

Sloane does little more than twitch in her seat. “People don’t come in here and give me orders in my own house, Pathfinder.” She glances at Sara over her shoulder. “Shoot his angara, will you?”

Sara’s eyes widen, flicking to meet Jaal’s, but before she can react everyone is reaching for their weapons. Crowded by the slew of Kelly’s supporters who have all drawn arms, Sara’s assault rifle is up and directed towards them, and Jaal does not believe he is imagining the quake of the barrel. Her eyes lock on Jaal’s, wide and frightened, and he wonders if her heart is beating as anxiously as his own.

“I think I gave an order,” Sloane says, unflappable.

“My… the Pathfinder could empty his entire clip into you before I pulled the trigger,” Sara replies. Her words are unsteady, and a slow smile spreads across Sloane’s face.

“This is all in my best interest, is it?” she asks. “You think the Pathfinder will start a war over his angara?” Jaal tips his head back to give himself the appearance of greater height. He will not bow to this woman. She finally straightens, and eyes them with a hard glare. “Because we can go to war. We’ve done it before. But this time there are greater steaks, aren’t there? All those colonies out there, already stretched thin. And we could come in with some real salt the ground sort of shit and make them wish the Ark _Hyperion_ had been destroyed by the Scourge and taken the Pathfinder with it.”

The Pathfinder’s aim does not waver. “Awful big talk for someone living in a dump like this instead of in Director Tann’s office.”

Sloane smirks. “They had the krogan last time. This time? Not so sure they’d be willing to help.”

“I don’t know about that,” the Pathfinder says. “Morda likes me.”

Sloane yawns and ignores the gun pointed at her head, turning her full attention over her shoulder. “Are you going to take the shot, Sara? Or do we need to have more words about your ‘scruples.’” She says the word like an insult.

Sara stares at Jaal. And lowers her gun.

“Beautiful,” Sloane laughs bitterly. “And here I thought you’d be good for business, Pathfinder.” She waves at the Pathfinder’s gun. “Get that out of my face and get the fuck out of my house, Ryder. I will take your advice regarding colonists under consideration. No promises.”

Because he is flanking the Pathfinder’s side, he sees the old human’s gaze dart towards Sara. “And my daughter?”

“I’ll deal with my people,” she says. “ _Out_.”

If they tarry any longer, they will draw real reprisals. The Pathfinder’s gaze is torn—no doubt thinking of the rumours of Sloane’s punishments for even minor betrayals—and he wavers. Jaal looks to Sara, who shakes her head so minutely it’s as though her jaw quivers for a bare moment.

“Ryder,” he says, placing a hand on the Pathfinder’s arm. They must trust Sara to take care of herself. She is a formidable woman. This is what Jaal’s mind says. His heart… speaks another wisdom entirely, but the violence is still too near to the surface. Hands still twitch towards guns, anticipatory, and with only three of them they do not have a chance of fighting their way back to the _Tempest_ , even if Sara were at their side.

“I’ll see you soon, Pathfinder,” Sloane says as the he finally tears himself away. Her laugh, bitter and unamused, follows them back out the door.

As soon as they’ve passed through the outer doors, the Pathfinder is on his omnitool. “Vidal? My daughter just disobeyed one of Kelly’s direct orders. I know you’ve got people inside Outcast HQ, and I need to know she’s all right.”

The tinny response is long in coming. “I’ll see what I can find out for you, Pathfinder.” The ensuing pause is long enough that Jaal believes Vidal has disconnected, only for the human to finally continue. “It was not a wise move.”

“Dammit.” The Pathfinder seems about to turn on his heel and march back in, when Drack grabs his arm.

“Alec,” the krogan says, “She’s your kid. Got a lot of that Ryder spunk. She’ll pull through.”

Not, ‘she’ll be fine.’ No reassurances of her health or well-being. It’s enough to send Jaal back in there, too, and he’s about to offer his assistance in dismantling Sloane Kelly’s would-be empire when Drack pins him with a quelling look. Silently fuming, he follows them back to the _Tempest_.

* * *

>   
>  To: aiche.lee  
>  From: Jaal Ama Darav  
>  Subject: 
> 
> You might’ve shot an extremity. I would have forgiven it, especially if it had been in the name of keeping yourself from harm.
> 
> You… haunt me, Sara Ryder. I am poor at concealing myself, so allow me to say how sincerely I wish to know you better. I feel as though our paths have crossed for some reason beyond simple happenstance, and I ache to know whether my warm feelings of affection and sincere pleasure when I am in your company for even the barest moment are returned. It has been many years since I last felt the pull of attraction to someone as strongly as I feel it to you, and I wish for your company, desiring nothing more than to know you are well. Safe. Even if you do not feel the power of our connection the way I do.
> 
> I am yours.
> 
> Ever hopeful,
> 
> Jaal Ama Darav

> * * *
> 
>   
>  To: aiche.lee  
>  From: Jaal Ama Darav  
>  Subject: Tell me you are safe?
> 
> The Pathfinder has not heard from Vidal on whether or not you are well. Even if you do not return the feelings I spoke of in my last message, please let me know, if for nothing else than to put his fears to rest.
> 
> With sincerity,
> 
> Jaal

> * * *
> 
>   
>  To: aiche.lee  
>  From: Jaal Ama Darav  
>  Subject: Sara?
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

>   
>  To: Jaal Ama Darav  
>  From: SYSADMIN  
>  Subject: Sending Error 000E1x089
> 
> Sending Error 000E1x089  
>  Details of error:  
>  The address “aiche.lee” does not appear on this network. Check this address for spelling errors and try again.
> 
>  

* * *

“Boots on the ground in five,” the Pathfinder calls over the comms. “We got a message from the Charlatan, and something’s about to go down.”

Jaal is slow to react. In the weeks— _weeks_ —since their last fateful visit to Kadara, they have discovered the remnant city, began the search for the true Meridian and solved an incalculable number of minor inconveniences facing the human colonies and the planets they now inhabit. They have yet to return to Kadara and find the vault.

“Can’t blame him,” Drack says one evening over poker, their Pathfinder sequestered in his quarters. “Can’t imagine landing in Kadara port and seeing Kesh’s head on a spike.”

The words make his soul die.

Gil corners him afterwards. “Next lesson’s gonna be your poker face, big guy.” He says the words jovially, but his eyes are seeking, questioning. Whatever answers he finds, he squeezes Jaal’s shoulder companionably and forces his company upon Jaal for the remainder of the night.

Their visits to the _Nexus_ are likewise few and far between, and the Pathfinder does not venture away from Ops. Gil, it seems—true to Sara’s prediction—has become a favourite of Scott, and is the only one privy to this information.

“He doesn’t want to be the one to tell him,” Gil says, eyes tight with strain as he stares at the drive core, though Jaal doubts he really sees it. 

Sara, for all she has never been a part of the crew, has become a ghost on their ship. She follows Jaal wherever he goes, and Jaal wishes she had shot him that day instead of lingering behind to haunt him thus.

If Sloane Kelly were to cross his sightlines, Jaal would not hesitate to fire.

The Pathfinder, Cora and Jaal arrive at provided navpoint and find Sloane Kelly waiting there for him. The Pathfinder and Cora remain staunchly neutral, but whatever Kelly sees in Jaal’s face makes her laugh.

“So, gang’s all here, then?” she asks. “I got a message from the Charlatan, asked me to meet him here. Settle this in a duel, because someone’s been watching too many vids.”

“Not too many, I don’t think,” Vidal says, stepping from the shadows.

“What’s this, then? I wanted the Charlatan, not a third rate smuggler.”

Jaal can see the exact moment the Pathfinder puts it together. “He is the Charlatan.” He glares at Vidal, as though the deception is somehow worse than all of Sloane’s crimes against them.

Vidal bows. “As charged.”

The Pathfinder looks past Vidal, and then towards Sloane. He slowly crosses his arms. “If you two are going to duel, you might as well get it over with.”

Sloane circles him like an achi preparing to strike. Vidal is more casual in his movements, more confident. Before Sloane can draw her gun, the soft tap of a bullet striking flesh from a great distance echoes in the cave around them and Sloane hits the ground, a hole the size of Jaal’s fist punched through the back of her head.

Cora yells and reaches for her gun, but the Pathfinder calmly puts a hand atop hers and she stills.

“Mockingbird, come down,” Vidal says into his omnitool. He looks up at the Pathfinder and, after a beat, Jaal. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting.”

The Pathfinder seems to look right through him, and Jaal follows his gaze. Outside the cave—barely visible, and nearly a mile away—a long figure scales down the side of the cliff. It takes him a moment to find them in the sandy-coloured cape which allows them to seamlessly blend into the rock face around them. His heart stutters. Stops. They pause when a shuttle comes to hover beside them, and then the vehicle turns to swoop their way. When it comes to a halt, a ghost steps out.

Sara has added to the impressive mark over her eye with a deep hook-shaped scar that cuts into her cheek and down towards her mouth. Her sniper rifle is strapped to her back, she drops the hood on her cape and looks at her father.

“Sara,” the Pathfinder chokes out.

“Mockingbird,” Vidal repeats.

“Vidal needed some insider intel into Sloane’s operat—” Her words are cut off by the fierce embrace into which the Pathfinder pulls her. He crushes her against his chest, gripping the back of her head hard enough that it must be uncomfortable. She is stiff for only a moment before grabbing him back.

“I thought she’d killed you,” the Pathfinder says.

“Why kill me when she could teach everyone else a lesson?” Sara whispers into his shoulder. “I wanted to contact you, after, but I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me.”

Jaal aches for the uncertainty in her voice, and the Pathfinder holds her tighter, if possible. “I’m sorry I made you think that. I’m sorry I walked out without listening to you. I’m just a sorry old man in general.”

Sara draws back to offer him a small, tentative smile. “It couldn’t have been easy for you, seeing me there.”

“Hey, don’t make excuses for me. I spend enough time making them for myself.” He loops an arm around her shoulders and pauses. Then, more tentative than Jaal had ever heard him, continues, “There’s room for you on the _Tempest_ , if you’re interested.”

Sara turns quick eyes to Vidal, who nods. “I consider your debt repaid in full.”

“Debt?” the Pathfinder asks.

Sara awkwardly pats her father’s arm. “A lot of stuff went down before you got to Heleus.” She nods at Vidal. “Thank you, Reyes.”

“Believe me, it’s been my pleasure.”

The Charlatan—‘really, Dad, he calls himself the Charlatan, and you never considered the possibility?’—goes back to his people, and the Pathfinder leads the way back to the Nomad. 

“Do you want to see the inside of a remnant vault? They’re impressive. And with Kelly out of the picture, I can see us finally turning Kadara into something better.”

As they walk, Sara falls back into step with Jaal.

“You did not reply to my messages,” he says mildly. His breath is too-quick, overwhelming relief tangled with mild anger making his very bones hum.

“I didn’t get them,” Sara replies, frowning apologetically. Her face is terribly expressive, unlike her father’s. “Sloane pretty much dropped me in the middle of nowhere without so much as a protein bar. By the time I finally got to Reyes, she’d scrubbed all my IDs from the system.” She tilts her head to look at him. “What did they say?”

Before Jaal can reply, the Pathfinder snaps them both to attention with a quick whistle, and they all pile into the Nomad. The moment gone, Jaal enjoys the way Sara’s leg presses against his—warm in the too-tight quarters—and considers how he might steal a moment of her time to finally put his aching heart at ease.

* * *

The opportunity come sooner than he thinks.

Late into the daily cycle, when most of the crew have bunked down and the only interruption is the distant sound of Kallo and Gil bickering at each other filtering through the air vents, the doors to the Tech Lab slide open and Sara steps inside. She more looks at ease than Jaal has ever seen her, in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and loose pants; no gun or body armour, tension eased away from her shoulders. The trials of Kadara seem scoured away. She’s even smiling.

“I thought I’d come and say thank you,” she begins. “For everything. I would still be going crazy over Scott if you hadn’t helped, and I’ve really come to think of you as a friend. Well. Not a friend exactly, because you’re more important to me than that? I mean, I’ve met your mothers, right? And umm… shit. I’m fucking this up—”

Fortunately, it seems as though she does not mind when Jaal interrupts her by pulling her into his arms and pressing his mouth to hers. She squeaks in surprise, but her body molds perfectly against his and she breathes out a quick, ‘oh good,’ when they break a moment for air.

Angara are not in the habit of kissing, but he can easily see why humans finds the pastime so pleasant. Sara’s mouth tastes of minty cleaner, underlain with the spice from the homey dinner Drack prepared for them earlier that evening. Her tongue brushes against his, and she kisses as though she has a right to him. Whether or not she knows how true the sentiment is, he cannot say. He is all hers.

They break again when his back hits the bulkhead, but only for a moment as he lifts her against him, pulling her tight to his chest. She is so light, and though he can feel muscle under his hands it cannot be as dense as angaran, for her to feel as small as she does.

He swallows words already muffled by his mouth and reluctantly pulls away. “I really want to do this,” Sara assures him. Her calloused fingers brush his lips and she chases them with a quick kiss. “But maybe not while there’s a chance my dad might end up walking in.”

“I know a place,” Jaal says. “On Aya. Perhaps, when we are next there?”

“I’ve never been to Aya,” Sara tells him.

“It will seem less beautiful when we are there together when I cannot stop comparing its beauty to yours.”

Sara’s breath hitches. “Oh wow.”

She kisses him again, her cheeks hot beneath his palms.

* * *

The visit the _Nexus_ first, and while Sara half drags Gil off the ship to go see Scott, the Pathfinder catches Jaal’s eye, and the silent order for him to remain behind keeps Jaal in place as the rest of the crew filters out onto the station.

“You know,” the Pathfinder begins, “SAM is tied into the ship’s systems.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Jaal nods.

“And should there be any potential security threats, he does his best to notify me.” The Pathfinder leans into Jaal’s space. “And smuggling a human being from Kadara to the _Nexus_ is clearly a security threat.” Jaal blanches, but the Pathfinder continues. “Also, should you ever wish to send my daughter the email you sent her after that run in with Kelly, he does have a copy saved in his databanks.”

“Ah. Is this the trowel talk?”

“Shovel talk,” the Pathfinder corrects. “And no. My daughter is a grown woman and she can make her own decisions.” He eyes Jaal closely. “I just hope she’s making the right one.”

“I will try my best to ensure she does not have reason to regret it, Pathfinder,” Jaal says. It feels like a promise.

“Well. All right, then.” The Pathfinder smiles, tightly, but friendlier than Jaal is accustomed to. “And call me Alec, Jaal. For god’s sake, we’ve been on the same ship together for almost a year.”

**Author's Note:**

> Andromeda just gave me so many feelings. 
> 
> All comments and kudos are gratefully accepted. Thank you so much in advance for reading!


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